


The Grimm's Pet

by OriionVulpes



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: AU-Bad Grimm, Angst, Bondage and Discipline, Happy Ending?, M/M, Monroe is a BAMF, Monroe is paranoid, Nick being nice, Nick is his teacher, Random evil Grimm is evil, Slavery, background Hank/Wu, eventual Nick Burkhardt/Monroe - Freeform, pet!Monroe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 21:11:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3183326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriionVulpes/pseuds/OriionVulpes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Monroe was captured by a Grimm, back in his baddy days, and was held as his pet, other's captured are domesticated and sold for profit to the highest bidder. Nick meets said Grimm, and is conflicted, knowing he must "kill the bad ones", but also knowing that the Wesen he captured weren't exactly innocent either. Cue Nick moping around, and trailer-diving, Monroe being super depressing, and Hank being a good friend. It's the perfect storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Good, The Blutbaden, and the Grimm...

**Author's Note:**

> Response to Grimmkink prompt http://grimm-kink.dreamwidth.org/1735.html?thread=1057991#cmt1057991   
> Couldn't resist. Hope you all enjoy. If anyone has anything against bondage, slavery, that kind of abuse, or slash in general, you have been warned, rough seas ahead. Don't worry, though, Nick has learned to sail. ;)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the beginning, kinda ad-libbing it as I go and it's un-beta'd so sorry for any mistakes.

# The Good, The Blutbaden, and The Grimm

 

_Schlafe, mein Prinzchen, es ruhn Schäfchen und Vögelchen nun._

_Garten und Wiese verstummt, auch nicht ein Bienchen mehr summt._

_Luna mit silbernem Schein gucket zum Fenster hinien._

_Schlafe, mein Prinzchen, schlaf ein._

_Wer ist beglückter als du? Nichts als Vergnügen und Ruh!_

_Spielwerk und Zucker vollauf, und noch Karossen im Kauf!_

_Alles besorgt und bereit, das nur mein Prinzchen nicht schreit._

_Was wird da künftig erst sein!_

_Schlafe, mein Prinzchen, schlaf ein._

_Schlaf ein, schlaf ein._

 

Nick wasn't sure how a German lullaby got it's way into his dreams, or where he'd even learned, it, much less how he seemed to instinctively know what it meant. Although, the way it was sung in his head, was far from sleep-inducing. The voice was rough with disuse, low and gravely, punctuated with deep growls and the whole time, all he saw, was dark red eyes, glowing in the darkness. He woke up with a scream curled in his throat, drenched in sweat, jumping at every creak and groan of the old house around him. That's it, no more reading in the trailer before bed...at least not three nights in a row, it was bad for his psyche. 

He quickly got up for a shower, his clothes sticky and uncomfortable. He almost stopped to tell Juliet where he was going, but caught himself. She'd moved out the week before, tired of the changes in their relationship, in Nick, in their house...especially after Stark's attack. He'd let her go, remembering what his Aunt Marie said. It'd be better in the end, for both of them. But it still hurt like a bitch. Still, he wouldn't let that keep him down, pity-parties where not allowed. 

He made the shower a cold one, listening to the near silence of the night, not turning on any lights, just letting his eyes adjust to the velvet darkness. He noticed new scars on his skin, in the dark, wiping off sweat with a washcloth. Claws, fangs, spikes, barbs...he knew the cause of each one, except... He trailed his hand over a jagged scar on his chest, still sore to the touch, just above his heart.

"When did that happen?" He wondered out loud, still tracing the shape after his shower had finished.

The house was cold, and empty, his things still in boxes from moving in. He'd left Juliet the house, of course, no need for her to find someplace new when he was the one causing problems. Besides, she could pay for it, and he most certainly could not. It was an old building, tucked in between manicured lawns of nosy neighbors, windows small but bright, away from prying eyes for the most part. Everything had wooden floors, except the bathroom and kitchen, (oak, so the Realtor had said), and the front door was heavy with an arching stained glass window at the top, forming a reddish wolf within a shield. He wondered what a Blutbaden would think if they saw that, coming after him one night. 

Blutbaden where his latest creature obsession, probably a Grimm thing, since so much of Marie's journals were filled with battle stories, characteristics of the creatures, and of course, many arguments over the best way to cripple and decapitate them. He'd run into a few, mostly alone, causing trouble, and he'd arrested them for bar-fights, kidnapping, trespassing, and the occasional murder charge. According to the journals, he's lucky to have run into  _lone wolves_ , in packs, it seemed, Blutbaden where several times more trouble. Overall, they seemed to be nasty pieces of work, with a thing for red, and little girls. He'd barely solved that case in time, and only with the help of an anonymous source.

Reclining in his armchair, he realized that he knew the voice from his dreams. It was the anonymous caller. Must be some kind of Grimm subconscious hunch, although it did make sense. Who else would know how to sneak up on a Blutbad but another Blutbad? He'd had Wu try to trace the call, but it came up as a burner phone, and when he called back, it had been disconnected. He wanted to thank him, the brave somebody that had helped him save a little girl. Actually...now that he had enough sleep, he realized the caller knew more than he'd told him, more than the papers. But how? The kidnapper wouldn't have called, telling him how to usurp him. Could this other Blutbad have been a cop? Or worse yet, following him?

He shook his head, dispelling those paranoid thoughts. He was thinking too hard, over-analyzing, and Hank would kick his ass if he caught him thinking about work on his day off. He'd probably tell him to go chase women, or get drunk, like normal people, and Wu would of course, have some witty retort about how that's  _certainly_ not a healthy way to deal with stress. He chuckled to himself. God, those two were a perfect couple, barely even dating, and they already argued like an old married couple. 

Nick stretched out his aching limbs, wincing at a sudden pain in his chest, just below the new scar. He shrugged his bathrobe off his shoulders, looking more closely at the old wound. Strange, he would have noticed something that large, and apparently deep...must have just missed it after what happened with Stark, after all, he'd looked like a defeated piñata after that affair. He just needed more sleep, he thought with a yawn, curling up in the armchair. Definitely more sleep.

 

 


	2. Two Grimms=Twice The Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monroe's POV time! I'll try and make him still snarky, because no one can domesticate snark, but expect some Monroe whumpage, since he is a slave and all. Violence ahead!

# Two Grimms=Twice The Trouble

Monroe woke up as he had for the last few years, curled in a ball in his cage, the stench of his own excrement making his nostrils flare. Yep, still here, in Hell, with a Grimm. Not that that was any reassurance whatsoever. His master was cruel without reason, it seemed, and even with the blood on his own hands, Monroe couldn't condone all the things he did to him as some sort of karmic justice. Most of it was just for fun to him, to watch a Wesen squirm. Monroe couldn't stand it, even long after he'd made himself numb to the pain, the loneliness, the blood-deep rage. He still dreamt each night of freedom, of taking apart his grandfather's pocket watch, of the soft, but solid ticking of the machinery that would lull him to sleep in his home. He deserved that now, after all this abuse. A safe place. To keep him safe from the Grimm, and to keep the world safe from him. 

He'd been trying to go clean for almost a month when the Grimm had captured him. He'd locked himself in a shack in the woods, ate only greens, and tried to control himself. In the end, he ate a squirrel. So, he hadn't quite gotten the whole thing figured out by the time his master showed up, but nobody's perfect. The first few months, he'd fought him claw and fang, taking any chance for freedom, before he finally realized how easily the Grimm could overpower him and kill him. He supposed he was lucky that he was alive, or wasn't sold, like the other's, but then again, no one wants to recommend a Blutbad as a house-pet, no matter how daring the prospective buyer may seem. That would just end in blood. 

Great, now he was hungry, and knowing his master, he'd be offered raw steak, or nothing. His stomach churned, but he wouldn't give in. He was determined to go straight, for real this time. Maybe then, he'd pay back the universe, and be set free. Yeah right. Still, he wasn't going to wolf out over meat just to amuse that twisted Grimm. He'd gone past that, into Gandhi territory, with fasting and silent protest that had so far only resulted in his starving and being kicked. 

None of his escape plans worked, but he never  _really_ gave up. Sure, he was beaten, broken-down and weak as Hell, but he'd keep his pride intact, thank you very much! He had ancestors to make proud somehow, and he'd rather do it by being proud and stubborn than by killing things at this point. There were several points in which he was tempted though, when he desperately wanted to kill his master, the Grimm that put him through all this pain, past the point of redeeming himself. He'd come so deliciously close to ripping his throat out, he'd even been taunted into trying once, but he could never bring himself to do it. No, he wouldn't kill, not again, not anymore. He wouldn't be that kind of blutbad.

God, he was about forty different kinds of pathetic now. He sulked in his cage for awhile, before letting himself out. The Grimm didn't bother locking it anymore, knowing he didn't have the balls to make a run for it. Not that he'd be stupid enough to try. More than once. Or twice. Okay, maybe three times, but that was it! 

Monroe stiffened suddenly, his posture become instinctively submissive as he heard tell-tale footsteps. His master was coming.

"What a good dog, waking up before I call you." Came the sickeningly sweet voice. Monroe shuddered at the sound, staying as low as he could, as a rough hand stroked his matted hair. "I think you'll like the plan today. You're going to meet a baby brother of mine."

Monroe forgot his manners, eyes wide and red as he looked up at the Grimm. "A...Grimm?" He growled.

His master's face was cold and distant, contemplating something. "In training, but yes. I think you're finally ready to meet. Get yourself washed up and ready. If you're lucky, he might buy you from me. His name is Nick Burkhardt."

Monroe frowned, testing the name of his new master on his tongue. "Nick...Burkhardt." He whispered. He could only hope he'd be a better master than his first.


	3. Destiny Has A Twisted Sense Of Humor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evil Grimm named Arnfried captures Wesen, domesticates them, and sell them for profit. He takes an interest in baby Grimm Nick Burkhardt, and plots to convert him as a part of his operation, perhaps with Monroe as a benefit from their new partnership. But Nick isn't so sure...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last two were SOOOOO short, sorry! This one will be longer and not short of either of our favorite Grimm and blutbad. Hope you like it! Look out for violence!

# Destiny Has A Twisted Sense Of Humor

Nick had been called into work at an ungodly hour. Apparently, murderers don't care about people's sleep schedules. But he didn't really have a sleep schedule anyways, so, no harm, no foul. Hank had handed him a steaming hot coffee, which he almost spat all over him when he saw the crime scene. There was blood  _everywhere_. 

"Somebody decided to go Jackson Pollock on this young man's insides." Wu quipped.

"I...noticed, thanks for the warning." Nick mumbled.

"No problem." He smirked.

Nick rolled his eyes. "No offense Wu, but why did you call me in straight away, couldn't this have waited until...I dunno, three in the morning?"

The Asian cop suddenly looked at him dead serious. "Not when the murderer leaves you a personal message."

He gaped. "What?"

Hank put a supportive hand on his shoulder, and with a sigh, led him up to the bridge underpass. The concrete pillar was splattered with blood, and as soon as his flashlight hit it, he could read the words, and it sent chills down his spine.

"Nick Burkhardt, come and play with my little doggie. I'm sure you'll like his RED EYES."

*****************************************************************************************************************************************************

Monroe managed to spit out the last of the blood, by some miracle, scrubbing at his body until his skin was raw. He felt horribly sick, still seeing the kid's face in his head, over and over, mouth open in a silenced scream. He'd broken the promise he made to himself, he'd killed again, and...he'd been **thrilled**. But when he came out of it, all he felt was guilt and remorse. He'd taken another life, stained his hands red again, and all for some sick game his master was playing. Just thinking about what he made him do, made him want to curl up in his cage, and never leave. At least then he couldn't hurt anyone anymore. _  
_

But...what about his dreams? The clock-filled house, taking up the cello again, soft sweaters, and celebrating Christmas, and the vague feeling of friendship surrounding him? No, he didn't deserve those dreams anymore, not after what he'd done. Still, it was a damn nice dream, and he'd rather be there than here, over an old porcelain tub, washing the blood off his mouth and beard.

"That's enough." Arnfried called to him, and he froze. Not tonight, please, he was so damn tired... "You're plenty clean, dog. Don't worry." He mumbled, putting his hand over the small of Monroe's back. "I'm not in the mood tonight. Get dressed and go back to sleep. You'll need it for the big day ahead."

Monroe nodded weakly, and didn't move again until he heard him leave the room. "I feel sorry for you, Nick, you don't know what you just walked into."

*******************************************************************************************************************************************************

As soon as the crime scene had been processed, and the body delivered to the morgue, Nick was called to the Captain's office. Something about protocol when dealing with personal vendetta's and psychopaths, if there even was such a protocol for dealing with that. Renard had probably written it, knowing him. 

"Did you know the victim, Nick?" Renard began interregating him the minute he came in the room.

"No...what was his name, again?"

"Phillip Rodnam." Hank answered from his side.

Renard put his hand on his hip, posing as he often did when talking to the detectives, and thinking hard. "And I suppose you don't no anything about a crazy killer with an affinity to red-eyed dogs?"

"Makes as much sense to me as it does to you."

"You never arrested anyone with an...albino dog?" Renard asked, looking as perplexed by the situation and what he was saying.

"Not to my knowledge. I think I'd remember that."

Wu popped in, his face full of snark, smirk donned, eyebrow raised. "Just got some forensics back from some hairs found on the body. The labs can't tell if it's man or wolf..."

"Don't you dare say it-" Hank interrupted.

"Looks like Portland's got itself a werewolf." Wu said, grinning.

Hank rolled his eyes, and Nick suddenly thought of Blutbaden. Red-eyed werewolf, maybe. 

"I woulnd't go that far, Sergeant." Renard dismissed.

"I'll look through our arrest records to double-check." Hank said, dragging off Wu before he went on another almost-irrelevant rant.

"...Be careful, Nick." The captain warned. "I don't like the look of this at all."

"I'll do my best, sir." Nick assured him, before heading back to his desk, and grabbing his keys. As he did, a note fluttered out of his desk.

It read:  _"Would you like to meet my dog, Nick? His name is Monroe. Come to the abandoned warehouse where those kids had raves. You can meet him there, and we'll discuss our work at a later date."_

He promptly threw it in the shredder, and stormed out, heading for the warehouse. He was done playing games, especially one's that ended in people dying.

***********************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Monroe looked around anxiously, the smell of rats hanging in the air, mingling with the faded smells of sweat and drugs and feces. He hoped Nick came soon, so he could get his nose out of this hell-hole. It was so dirty, it made him itch to get out, but he knew the chains holding him down were strong, and the key was hanging from the ceiling a few feet away from him. For Nick. Arnfried had only left it so close to Monroe to torment him. One last sadistic gift from his tormentor. That, and the knowledge that his new Grimm was a homicide detective, aka he could make him disappear if he wanted too. Perfect.

He heard a car pull up to the entrance, and held deathly still. Maybe if he didn't act threatening, he wouldn't kill him. Maybe.

Nick pulled out his gun, cautious as he approached the entrance. This could be a trap, and he certainly didn't feel at ease out here, alone. Damn, he should have brought Hank...no, that'd be to dangerous for his partner. He couldn't risk getting him killed. Taking a deep breath, he entered the building, creeping across the floor, his weapon eye-level, following a trail of blood down, down, down. He saw something in the corner of his eye.

Monroe held his breath, not daring to ask him not to shoot. Afterall, Arnfried had left him with...a token from his kill, the bloody, torn-off arm lying in front of him like some sick prop. His deep red eyes stared up at him. 

Nick held his breath. He had not been expecting that. A blutbad, practically naked, chained to a pillar, covered in injuries, skin sticking to his ribs from lack of food, with Phillip Rodnam's arm posed in front of him. "You're...Monroe."

Monroe blinked. Had it been that long since someone called him that? Jesus, it was nice. And the new Grimm was...quite a looker. Probably three times as deadly though. But definitely hot. "...Yes."

"You ok?" Nick asked, putting away his gun. Monroe looked at him like he was insane. "It's alright, I'm just gonna get those chains off, ok?"

Monroe hesitated, but nodded slowly, red eyes flickering to brown.

The Grimm knelt down in front of him, holding his gaze as he reached forward, and undid the chains binding him back. He took a deep breath once he'd been freed, not daring to meet Nick's eyes any longer. "You really shouldn't have done that."

Nick grew tense. "Are you gonna attack me?"

"...I'm dangerous." 

Nick relaxed again, helping Monroe away from the severed arm. "So am I."

"Yeah, I could kinda tell by the gun." Monroe snarked, before he could stop himself.

He looked up to apologize and was meet with a dazzling smile. Well, he was fucked.

"I'm Nick, by the way."

"Yeah, the new one." Monroe mumbled, looking back down at the floor.

Nick frowned. "New what?"  
"...New master."

"You mean...Grimm?"

"Sure, whatever, you bought me didn't you?" Ok, now he was gonna get hit.

"...No, I most certainly did not." Nick said, almost snickering.

Monroe glared at him slightly, no longer threatened by such an adorable creature.

"I will take you home though."

Monroe stiffened again. Shit.

"For a good meal. A guy your size shouldn't be thinner than me."

Crisis averted: weird baby Grimm discovered. What the fuck is my life now?!

Nick interrupted Monroe's internal freak-out by leaning in to look at him, wide grey eyes peering at him through long lashes. "You cold?"

"Uh...sure."

"I'll get a blanket." Nick smirked. "And a dogbed."

Monroe huffed indignantly, and Nick just laughed.

"You, are tactless." He informed the Grimm.

Nick chuckled to himself, and brought Monroe out to the car. For the first time in years, he felt relaxed enough with someone else, that he dozed off in the back seat, and dreamt of making clocks and a vague sense of friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of past non-con ahead! You've been warned!


	4. Captured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monroe seems to find comfort in Nick's house, but even the quiet solitude and a Burkhardt family heirloom clock can't erase all the damage that's been done...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long guys! Thanks for the likes and the comments, I hope you have stayed with me so far! I've been SWAMPED with schoolwork and a poor internet connection these last few months, but I intend to make up for my absence by writing a nice, long chapter this time!

Monroe tried to settle down, but every creak and groan of the old house tormented him, every sound a reflection of some vile deed he'd long left-behind in his memories. The house was old, and he could smell the dust covering all the surfaces; the sour milk on the counter-top, the cheap beer left in the sink, the humid, scented air from Nick's shower, even the detergent on the fresh sheets he was currently laying on. It was all too much.

He kicked and squirmed in bed, growling to himself. It was too open...Nick hadn't even locked the door. Did he really trust him to stay in bed and not do anything? He could kill someone, hurt himself, run away...Or Arnfried could come in through the front door and...

Monroe shook his head, burrowing under the blankets. God, he stank of fear...his family would disown him if they saw him like this, no doubt about it. Knowing he'd been so close to not one, but  _two_ Grimms and he hadn't disemboweled either of them on sight? No way he'd be invited to Christmas ever again. He scoffed to himself. That hardly mattered, anyways.

He heard someone outside, the sound of footsteps approaching the door. His eyes burned red, and he didn't even realize he'd Woged until he was curled up in the closet, shaking.  _Get a grip, Monroe!_  He scolded himself. But he still couldn't bring himself to move, huddled up under a moth-eaten old police uniform. Oh right, Nick was a cop Grimm...

Monroe was distracted again, holding his breath when someone rang the doorbell. He was trembling, hunched over in the corner, waiting for the worst. All he heard was Nick, (or at least he  _hoped_ it was Nick), cursing and fumbling down the stairs, pausing when he saw him. Monroe froze, mortified. He had at least three inches and maybe 40 lbs on this baby Grimm, and he'd seen him hiding in a closet like a damn pup. Perfect. Just fucking perfect. He tried to growl, look threatening, but all that came out was a pathetic yelp. 

Nick looked at him with those mysterious gray eyes, and he shut up quick.  _If looks could kill..._ Monroe thought, strangely relaxed until Nick broke eye-contact and went to answer the door. Monroe suppressed the urge to beg him not to open it, not to turn him back, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. Nick smiled softly at him, and opened the door.

Monroe felt all his muscles tense, ready to attack at a moments notice. Nick was at least somewhat on his side, the two of them might have a chance... He blinked, realizing the visitor wasn't Arnfried, but rather a small, slender, fire-haired, young woman. 

"Nick, sorry, I know it's late-" She started, but Nick quickly interjected.

"Course not, it's fine, would you like to come in?" Nick smiled, seeming to forget the Blutbad huddling in his closet wearing only a thin t-shirt. Monroe cursed in German, scrambling into the back of the closet with a loud thump, as the woman entered.

"...Is that a dog?" The woman asked. Monroe grumbled indignantly. He was not a fucking  _dog_.

"What? Oh, no, that's...Monroe, he's a..............an old friend. He's having a hard time, so I'm putting him up."

"That's...nice of you." She smiled, clearly noting his bluff.  _Jesus_ , Monroe thought, _for a man with so many life-destroying secrets he SUCKS at lying!_

"Is there something you needed?" Nick asked, rushing the conversation.

"Well, I left my veterinary license in your poster box when you moved out..." She said, sheepishly.

Monroe huffed. She must be a shitty vet if she can't tell an un-Woged Blutbad from a dog!

"Right, I'll go get it!" Nick smiled, much too cheery for a man that'd just woken up at 3:14 in the morning. He flung the door open, and raced to the attic to find what she was looking for.

Monroe fidgeted, knowing he shouldn't fear this small human, but feeling...weaker without Nick around. The fiery-haired woman had come inside, peeking into the closet from the main entry. 

"Hi Monroe, I'm Juliette." She said sweetly, smiling so brightly that Monroe wanted to throw up.

".....Hi." He mumbled, managing to scrunch up his face in response.

"How do you know Nick?"

"...our families were competitive." Monroe replied, not sure what else to say, but figuring he'd stay as close to the truth as possible. Competitive seemed like the most civilized way to say they constantly beheaded and disemboweled one another.

She frowned. Shit.

"...So, did you know Aunt Marie?"

Monroe could feel himself go pale. Nick Burkhardt the Grimm, has an Aunt Marie? As in, Marie Kessler? Scheisse! The Grimm that beheaded his...who was that? I mean, they probably deserved it, for the....eating people...but still! Living with a relative of  _the_ Marie Kessler?! He was  _sooooooooooooooooooo_ disowned...

"...o-oh yeah...we go  _way_ back." Monroe said, looking like he'd been hit by a car.

"Juliette! I found it!!" Nick hollered, Monroe letting out a sigh of relief. Finally, he was free from this interrogation! "...Monroe, she's not bothering you, right?" Nick asked, crouching down near the closet. God, he was so small, Monroe could snap him like a twig, and here he was, worrying about him. He'd officially hit rock-fucking-bottom.

"'M fine." He huffed. Nick smiled, pulling Juliette back to give him some space. 

"This is it, right?" He asked her, still smiling. If they kept being so sickeningly happy, Monroe was gonna kill something...

"Yes, thank you Nick." She grinned, pulling him into an awkward hug. Fuck, Monroe was gonna barf, they were so freaking perfect!

"No problem....I should be getting back to bed, though, I've got a mountain of paperwork tomorrow." Nick mumbled, pulling away.

Juliette offered another small smile, taking the framed certificate. "...I'll see you around?"

"Yeah, sure." He said, his smile starting to seem forced.

She kissed his cheek, turning and leaving the same way she'd came. What Monroe wouldn't do for a civil relationship of any kind...

Monroe shook himself out of his daydreams, hoping the rest of his stay here wouldn't be so...soap-operie. 

"...Monroe, you alright? Is the bed too small?" Nick asked, looking guilty as he sat down near him, keeping a respectable distance, as if he were dealing with a beaten dog.

He didn't answer, curling in on himself. He hadn't wanted to worry Nick like this. Why couldn't he get over it?! 

Nick scooted in closer. "You're safe here, I won't let anyone hurt you."

Monroe hesitated, waiting a long time before responding. "...I don't believe you. Why should you be any different from....from  _him_." He hissed.

Nick looked hurt and guilty. "You didn't want to be Wesen, right? You didn't want to hurt people, did you?"

Monroe nodded. God, he was so pathetic...but he hated it, the killing, the blood, the hunt... It drove him mad, that's why he'd tried to go Wieder to begin with. He had enough sins to bear without adding more wood to the fire.

"...I didn't want to be a Grimm. Didn't even know what that meant til a month ago. And I don't want to kill Wesen because of what they are." Nick said, his voice soft, speaking words he'd held in much too long, and didn't have anyone to share to.

"....I deserved it." Monroe finally said. "...I didn't have the discipline to go straight, he knew that-"

"Stop." Nick growled, anger clear in his eyes. "Whatever you did...you didn't deserve any of that."

Monroe flinched back, scrambling against the wooden floor. "I'm sorry..."

Nick shook his head, the anger leaving his clear, grey eyes. "My Aunt Marie taught me something about being a Grimm. We kill the bad ones."

Monroe panicked, starting to shake again.

"...So I'll keep you safe, I promise." Nick whispered. "You're not one of the bad ones."

Monroe froze, unsure to react. Surely this was a test...he was just trying to trick him...he must be... He whimpered, remembering all the ways Arnfried had tricked him, used him, hurt him. All just to amuse himself.  _Such a mighty Blutbad, on his knees_. Monroe could hear his voice, and felt sick, clutching the sides of his head, eyes squeezed shut. 

Suddenly warm arms encircled him, and he leaned into the soft heat with a shaky sigh. He wanted to disappear into this sensation, be held so tight, and never be released. The memories drifted from his head, and he finally felt the exhaustion of the last few days falling over him, a gentle voice whispering his name and sweet nothings, lulling him to sleep, reminding him of the songs from his childhood...

_Schlafe, mein Prinzchen, es ruhn Schäfchen und Vögelchen nun._

_Garten und Wiese verstummt, auch nicht ein Bienchen mehr summt._

_Luna mit silbernem Schein gucket zum Fenster hinien._

_Schlafe, mein Prinzchen, schlaf ein._

_Wer ist beglückter als du? Nichts als Vergnügen und Ruh!_

_Spielwerk und Zucker vollauf, und noch Karossen im Kauf!_

_Alles besorgt und bereit, das nur mein Prinzchen nicht schreit._

_Was wird da künftig erst sein!_

_Schlafe, mein Prinzchen, schlaf ein._

_Schlaf ein, schlaf ein._

 


End file.
